Rarely are health issues or our physical or mental well-being topics for songwriters or poets. We all know that life isn’t fair, that there is no justice in the world, and as Jim Morrison said, “No one here gets out alive!” Well, I did know a lawyer once who named his golden retriever ‘Justice’, just so he could feel like he had some in his life I guess. And why is it folks are always saying they’re sick as a dog? Even Aerosmith has a rocker with that title, though I’m not real sure what they’re singing about. “Sick as a dog, what’s your story? Sick as a dog, umm, cat got your tongue? Sick as a dog, you’ll be sorry—Sick as a dog, cause you really ain’t that young.” But most of the time songwriters stay clear of those gloomy and dire medical themes, universal though they may be. Of course there are always tasteless exceptions, like ACDC’s song The Jack, where they are really talking about getting the clap, or Joe Jackson’s blunt song Everything Gives You Cancer. Ted Nugent, who is often inappropriate, has a song called Cat Scratch Fever, Led Zeppelin put out a song in 1975 called Sick Again, and Van Halen sang Somebody Get Me a Doctor. New Orleans R & B artist Huey ‘piano’ Smith wrote a rollicking catchy tune called Rockin’ Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu in 1957, which was later a hit for Johnny Rivers. “I wanna jump but I’m afraid I’ll fall—I wanna holler but the joint’s too small. Young man’s rhythm’s got a hold of me too—I got the rockin’ pneumonia and the boogie woogie flu”.

April Fool’s Day was just a month or so ago and for once no one master-minded any mean or rotten tricks to play on me. Not even any little playful pranks. My friend Danielle and I have been pulling stuff on each other for decades, and we are both wary of even answering the phone if we see our caller IDs. So I guess I was actually the fool again, ‘cause I had an uneasy day just waiting for her to do something to me. Folks all over Europe, some parts of India and even China have hosted April 1st as a day of silliness and tricks and frivolity for centuries. Its exact origin is lost to the mists of time, though Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales”, written in 1392, is the first recorded mention of April 1st and foolishness. Many other chroniclers of ancient folklore have sited the unofficial holiday as a way for the lower classes to blow off some playful steam. Shakespeare even wrote a part for a fool in his play King Lear. He was the king’s confidante and counselor—and was actually a wiser man than any of the king’s other advisers or minions.

How do you make the transition from reading the notated music in front of you on a piece of paper to closing your eyes and just playing the music that somehow occurs to you? I’ve been asked this question a lot, especially from classically trained violinists who for some reason can’t make the jump from reading music to playing without written music and improvising. In my case, in order to get heard around my house you had to start improvising. Everyone in my family played music—usually written music, but when the whole family got together, unless you could ‘wing’ it, you wouldn’t be able to join in the fun. There were too many people crowding around the piano to see the music anyway. But I was lucky in having this background, because it was normal for us to play without written music and it wasn’t really a big deal. It was just what we did.Read More…

Like an insistent, chattering monkey, I am always telling folks to get out and listen to live music. Now clearly that is somewhat self-serving, since as a working musician it is always more fun for me to play when there is an audience. I want people to listen, and re-act and hopefully enjoy when the band is cooking and the muse is with us. The coolest thing about a bunch of musicians playing together live and in person is that the music will only be like that once. One time only–unique. And the audience is part of the vibe and inspiration of that particular performance. Lots of recordings are called ‘live’–so and so band ‘live’ at some venue…. Well, it is obviously a recording of a live performance, and as such, it has been altered, enhanced, and changed in subtle or sometimes drastic ways. Modern recording and mixing technology is so sophisticated now that once you have recorded something it can be manipulated in a kzillion different ways. If the singer goes out of tune for a second–isolate the track and alter the pitch. If the drummer hits a cymbal in the wrong place–isolate the track and get rid of the offensive sound. If the guitar player’s solo isn’t great, well just delete it and have him play it over again in the studio. If the violin sound sucks, add some reverb or change the tone of the instrument to something you like. My point is that no matter how true to reality a recording may be, it is still just an electronic attempt at duplicating the sound and performance and ‘feel’ of the original. Course, since we can’t travel around or live our lives with a bunch of tiny musicians in our pockets, recorded music is the next best thing.

During the first week of December the fine folks who run the Escuela de Musica Sinfonica de Perez Zeledon, a private music school in San Isidro, schedule the end of the year examinations for all the students who study and receive music instruction there. There’s all ages enrolled in the school, and this past year my dozen students ran the gamut from 7 year olds playing little bitty violins to teen-agers with tuner and metronome apps on their cell phones. They get nervous over the testing, not realizing that I am not judging them for their performance that day (unless they are arrogantly un-prepared and insolent about it—which has never happened to me here in Costa Rica), but that my grades are based on their overall abilities and progress. I wonder if they are enjoying themselves and try to evaluate if they have consistently gotten better. Do they appear to enjoy the process? Is this the right instrument for them? For the struggling student should I abandon the rigid classical approach for a friendlier, learn by ear method? Are they capable of the repetitive practice and focus necessary to learn the skills they need? And then it’s back to the most important question—are they having fun?

And may 2016 roll in gently and melodiously! There should be plenty of live music happening in our area, ‘cause whether you’re in the churches or the bars, the holiday season moves folks to sing and make music. So, having spent way more time in bars than I have in church, I’m gonna talk about some of the rowdier and ruder songs of the xmas season. I really love weird xmas songs, and there are plenty of them out there. A shrink would have a field day with my holiday set list….

There have always been novelty type songs about xmas, like ‘I Saw Momma Kissing Santa Claus’, or ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’ or ‘Frosty the Snowman’, and they are usually cute and kind of innocent and geared to kids. I get weary of those saccharine, happy little ditties, just like I get weary of the made-to-pull-at-your-heartstrings sad xmas songs. If you are crying in your eggnog over Elvis’ ‘Blue Christmas’, or the Eagles version of Charles Brown’s ‘Please Come Home for Christmas’, or Loretta Lynn singing ‘Christmas Without Daddy’, then you need to upgrade to some of the grittier yule time sicko material that’s out there.

This last decade or so there has been an odd—at least I find it odd—urge to bring back the bands and performers who were so important to the soundtrack of our lives. I’m talkin’ tours with rock and roll dinosaurs—the hair bands that now have lots of grey, or none at all. The bad boys who survived but are more likely to be chewing Mylanta than ‘ludes. But there was a lot of musical freedom and excitement going on back in the 60s, 70s and 80s, when lyrics were important and melody still reigned. I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the baby boomers want to re-connect with the music and spirit of those days, and they can now afford the couple hundred bucks for tickets, so make way for the dinosaurs! I saw a guy the other day with a button that said “I’m not old, your music really DOES suck! And pull up your pants!” Hard to argue with that.

There’s nothing like a nice soft rain to lull one into indoor inactivity. A book and a hammock are my first choice, but for those of you with a higher metabolism you might want to find things to do besides gardening, or hiking or any of the outdoor stuff here that is normally so much fun. So, keeping the focus on music, here’s a few things you can do while there’s a deluge going on outside.

If you are going for the book and hammock diversion, there are tons of biographies and auto-biographies out there about musicians. I’ve read bunches of them—from Frank Sinatra to Willie Nelson to Frank Zappa to Linda Ronstadt, and they are all interesting, even the ones about musicians I was never much interested in. Like Steven Tyler—who wins for the best title, Does the Noise in My Head Bother You?

One of my best girlfriends and someone who regularly de-railed my train of thought and my life in general, was my viola playing friend Kitty. She was a bit of a classical snob, and I totally understand that, ‘cause most classical players work really hard to master the skills necessary to play that type of music and they are in an elite category. Kitty was particularly interested in the ‘Baroque’ style of music and the kind of odd-ball instruments used at that time. Music, of course, is a continually evolving art form, and when folks talk about ‘Baroque’ music they are usually referring to a pretty broad range of styles and techniques that came from Europe during the Renaissance and Baroque periods. ‘Course it’s the musicologists and historians who have named them that—they didn’t know they were Baroque musicians, they were just doing what musicians do. The so-called Renaissance period started in the 1400’s and the Baroque era lasted for 150 years or so, from 1580 to 1730.

Some friends of mine who were visiting Costa Rica last March found themselves in the odd position of having to call their families with the news that they wouldn’t be catching their scheduled flight home. Odd, not because they had missed a bus, or because their flight was overbooked, or because the taxi drivers were on strike, but because there was a volcano going off and things at the airport were a bit messy….. The volcano that blew was Mt. Turrialba, in the Cartago Province – its last major eruption was in 1866, but it rumbled back to life in 2001 and by 2013 there were 20 seismic events per day associated with it. Now there are some 30 per hour. Yikes. Shifting tectonic plates plus local faults cause thousands of tremors here yearly, some short and jarring, others long and rolling. Scientist types say this frequency relieves pressure and keeps the ‘Big One’ at bay – there are some 200 extinct volcanos in this country, and a bunch of active ones that can disrupt all kinds of things, from airplane flights to bird migrations to cattle breeding.

There’s just nothin’ like being somewhere remote and far away from human pollution and influences – and gazing up at a beautiful, clear night sky. After traveling all over and living in a variety of locations, I realize I’ve always managed to put myself in places where I could see the nighttime stars. Occasional boat experiences were mostly fun for me because of the vast scope of the heavens surrounding us. It was easy to feel like we were all part of them. When I lived at 9,000 feet in Colorado, I would get home from a gig at like 2 or 3 am, grab a sleeping bag and pillow, traipse up the hill to my favorite boulder to curl up on and ponder the stars. They were so close. They seemed so important and ancient. Meteor showers that were so in-my-face they were almost alarming. Northern lights that moved and pulsated and that you felt no one else could possibly be witnessing. I’ve never been good at remembering the names of the celestial bodies up there, but it really doesn’t matter. One night recently I sat on a comfy piece of driftwood next to the mighty Pacific – again humbled and awed by the stars – and started singing ‘star songs’ to myself. Every civilization and culture and geographical area has produced songs about stars, whether they were simple musical rhymes to help sailors navigate, or explanations of people’s religious beliefs, or pop ditties about starshine and stardust….

Throughout time we have learned our survival skills and our histories and how to make art and music from the older folks around us. The village elders. The tribal chiefs, the master craftsmen, the seasoned veterans. The verbal accounts from our forefathers that give us perspective. The musical traditions that have brought us together or have defined us regionally. Musicians have always been guided by the players or writers who came before – we learn from them that it is not the ability to play a flurry of complicated stuff that is important, but it’s the wisdom to play the right stuff. The skills that enable us to play with other musicians doesn’t just happen either, so most musicians end up being teachers to the less experienced players, whether it’s intentional or not. Unless you are reading notated music, like in an orchestra setting, it is necessary to invent your own parts to blend with and compliment the other musicians. It takes time to learn this. And a good dose of humility.

We all know folks who fall into the category of ‘over achievers’. Those annoying people who can balance their checkbook, change the oil in their car, bathe the dog, jog a mile, mend a pair of pants, weed their garden, remember their aunt’s birthday and call her on time, fix a gourmet breakfast for four and do yoga – all before I’ve managed to make a decent cup of coffee and stop growling. I absolutely hate comparing myself to these folks who are able to pay such attention to the millions of issues and details we face every day, and I could never live with any of them….and how do they do it all anyway? Well, mostly they have better discipline, better organizational skills, better focus and they are ‘self-starters’ who have probably been that way all their lives. It’s not that they are driven to succeed exactly – but they are driven to be organized and to do things instead of lying in a hammock reading science fiction or sitting on a log contemplating the sunset. Now, don’t get me wrong – hammock time and thoughtful contemplation have their own importance – hence the saying “Don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.” But on a practical level even I have to admit that things go better if I make a list before going to the store, or if I’m stopped by the cops and I actually have an up to date marchama or haven’t let my passport expire…

Here we are at the beginning of a new year, (2015 in case you really partied hard on New Year’s Eve), optimistic and full of well-meant resolutions. Or vows. Or promises. “I promise to be a kinder person. I promise to quit smoking and to lose weight. I promise not to eat a bag of chips with dip and call it a two course meal. I promise Oprah not to text and drive. I promise not to wear anything with horizontal stripes. I promise to conquer the Spanish language – practice scales – work for world peace…..” Now I might manage to keep the resolution about the stripes, but like the majority of us, by the second week of January I will have broken most of these resolutions….

There are probably more songs written about love gone bad because of those issues than there are sweet songs about perfect relationships and everlasting fidelity. Mainly ‘cause the messy stuff is way more interesting! Every style of music has their entries into this category, and frankly there are so many songs about cheating on your partners that it’s kind of embarrassing. We’ve all been told lies, whether it’s a kind, white lie – “No, honey, those pants don’t make your butt look big…” – or the whoppers that involve serious treachery and which change everything and usually doom a relationship.